A Chance Encounter
by nativefloridian
Summary: A chance encounter changes things. Tom/Rachel, ep 2x10
1. Chapter 1

Tom turned the corner and found her in the p-way, bent over, leaning on some pipes, obviously distressed.

"Rachel?" he asked softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She shrank away from his hand, shuddering, drawing in upon herself. He was confused – and even more concerned – at this reaction. "What happened?" he asked, in a firmer tone.

She finally glanced at him.

"I need a shower."

"Um, ok." He said. "Any particular reason?" he watched as she closed her eyes and shuddered once more. He cautiously stepped a little bit closer, to make it harder for her to evade his eyes. "Rachel, _what happened?_ "

"Niels." The one-word response filled him with dread.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"This is not a reaction to _nothing_."

"I… let him _think_ I was going to let him do something…"

"What? Why?"

"He wants to…I needed information…" she said, clenching her fists around the pipe in front of her until her knuckles went white. "He's apparently been following my work for years. Even met me at a conference after a speech I gave, though I don't remember it."

Tom felt a chill run down his back as the pieces clicked. _I made Rachel work with her stalker. Who happens to be the worst mass murderer this planet has ever seen._ He'd known the latter when he'd forced her to work with him, but he'd seen how much impact a 'regular' stalker had had on his cousin in college. If this was all that Rachel was letting show…she was the strongest woman he'd ever met.

"I…Rachel, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I can get Dr. Millowski to work with him instead."

"Whom he will tell absolutely nothing. He wants _me_."

Tom nodded reluctantly. She was right, dammit.

"How much else is there that you need from him?"

"I technically have all the information I need."

"but…" he asked, sensing there was more.

"… but I need actual samples of the virus from his lungs."

"So that requires, what, surgery?" He couldn't see Niels consenting to surgery, but he didn't much care about _his_ consent.

"There's two ways. The easiest way is to let the virus to reproduce in his lungs by unlocking its stability sequence. The other is surgery to take a significant portion of his lung, and search the tissue for months until I find the one strain I need from among the thousands of strains of this virus and the millions of strains of every other virus he's ever had and recovered from."

"…what's wrong with the first method?" he asked. It sounded pretty straightforward to him, so there must be a reason she hadn't already done it.

"Now that I don't need any more information from him, I'd actually prefer that one. It's far quicker, and that alone could save millions of lives. But also for the good and simple reason that he deserves to die in the same fashion as all the people he's killed." Tom blanched once he realized what she was proposing. _Not that Niels didn't deserve it_. But then he paused, forcing himself to consider the options she'd laid out. Millions of innocent lives were worth far more than Niels' worthless ass.

"You're absolutely sure you'd get what you need?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's going to have to stand trial at some point, and given the charges, he'll probably be executed for his crimes. We may as well get something useful out of it. Let me talk to the president about how fast we can get a trial together. And even if we can't, we will make him have that surgery. Either way, you don't need to talk to him anymore. I'll keep him locked up in his room for the rest of his miserable life, and the only place you'll have to look at him is in your petri dishes."

He watched Rachel as she stood up, turning to him in disbelief, and then awe. Suddenly, she threw her arms around him. He felt himself return her embrace instinctively. This was only the second time he'd hugged her, but there was something about this woman's hugs that just felt _right_. They stood like that for a while, until he felt all the tension drain out of her small form. Finally, she took a deep, cleansing breath and stepped back.

"Thank you, Tom."

He was glad she felt better, but he felt uncomfortable with her gratitude when he was part of the cause of her pain in the first place.

"You deserve so much more. I'm sorry I made you work with him at all."

"You were right, you know. It had to be done, and it had to be me." She shivered briefly in memory. "But now it's over. And finding the cure is worth it."

It was his turn to stare in awe at the resilient woman in front of him. He knew he couldn't really understand what she'd been going through, but he knew that what she had endured would have broken a weaker soul.

"You're an amazing woman, you know that?"

"Just doing what needs to be done." She told him sincerely. "Thanks again."

And with that she turned and walked down the p-way with a definite bounce in her step, Tom's eyes fastened to her until she disappeared from view.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I am not a lawyer. Some of this is probably wrong.

Andrea Garnett sat at the middle of the table as people filed in to the makeshift courtroom. As the senior officer who had had the least contact with Niels Sorensen, she'd been put in charge of overseeing the trial. It was hardly a proper affair, but they were trying to get as close as they could to 'by the book' while still at sea. Jeter had offered to serve as defense counsel out of a sense of fairness and duty, and she believed he would have done his honest best, but Sorenson had refused counsel. He had argued for himself, insisting that the whole thing was an accident. That it had simply had gotten out of his control, and once released, he feared for his life if he came forward. Slattery, acting as the prosecution, had rebutted those arguments by calling Lt. Green up to recount the events in Florida, demonstrating the teddy bears that were used to spread the Red Flu. Then Dr. Scott came up to explain all the scientific and medical ethics that Sorenson had ignored from the very beginning, and how they translated into criminal acts – and how this was all taught in the first year of medical school, so there was no feasible claim of 'ignorance'.

But what had stuck in Andrea Garnett's mind the most was not what Dr. Scott had said, but the dynamics in the room at the time. Sorensen had held an unbroken focus on the doctor the entire time she was in the room; it was obvious he was fixated on her, and not simply in a way that a man pleading for his life would be. While Slattery was asking his questions, Dr. Scott did her best to ignore the defendant, choosing to look at Slattery or the Captain. Once Sorensen began asking his questions, she avoided his eyes for a while…but once she made eye contact, the intense hatred and disgust in her eyes was obvious and unwavering. Garnett was surprised it didn't turn Sorensen to a pile of ash where he stood. As it was, he looked shocked and betrayed. His questions to her became increasingly personal, making the entire room uncomfortable. Garnett had overruled multiple irrelevant questions, and when it was clear he wouldn't stop, she excused Dr. Scott from the room, calling Milowski in for any remaining legitimate _medical_ questions Niels might have.

A tapping noise brought her back to the present; she noticed the room was mostly full now. Michener, Milowski, the captain, and Dr. Scott all sat in the first row. The tapping noise was coming from the right foot of Dr. Scott, and was suddenly stilled by the captain's hand on her knee.

"Rachel, it'll be fine." He said with a comforting smile, offering his hand to her. She took it, clutching it tightly, visibly embarrassed at revealing her anxiety so blatantly.

"I hope so." She replied quietly, waiting impatiently for the proceedings to start.

Garnett was happy to oblige, gesturing to bring in Sorensen. Miller and O'Connor brought him in, and she noticed that Miller stood directly between Sorenson and his view of Dr. Scott, not that it stopped him from trying.

"Niels Sorensen." She said loudly, briefly getting her to look his way. She could see his attention waning quickly in favor of Dr. Scott, and she opted for the short version. "We have finished our deliberations. You have been found guilty of all charges and are sentenced to death."

"What!? Rachel, I helped you! Tell them how I helped you!"

"Get him out of here." Garnett said. She watched as they physically dragged him away – Tex gladly assisting – as he continued to beg, then curse Dr. Scott on his way out of the door. Turning back to the doctor, Garnett saw her sag in relief against the captain's shoulder. _Rachel's had a rough week,_ Garnett mused. _But from the looks of it, I think she'll be okay._ She allowed herself a small smile as she gathered her papers and left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Tom Chandler was sitting out by the railing. It was one of his favorite places on the ship, offering a seat with a clear view of the horizon minus any distracting instrument displays or bridge chatter. There was just the wind, the water, and the sky. It let him think.

Currently he was thinking of a certain doctor down in the helo bay. He had visited her lab earlier, hoping for a progress report, but she'd been so engrossed in her test tubes that she didn't hear him walk in; he'd decided to leave her to it. Ever since Sorensen's execution, the lab was the only place he'd found her. The last time they'd talked was immediately after the autopsy; he could tell she was relieved, but she had confessed that she felt Niels had gotten off too easy – he'd been given drugs to knock him out before he'd been given the DNA scissors, and it had only taken a minute for him to actually die.

He'd tried to reassure her that Niels was headed straight to hell, only to be rather harshly rebuked. _Heaven and hell are just stories we tell to make ourselves feel better, Tom. I stopped believing in them a long time ago._ The words rolled around in his head. He'd almost asked what had happened – but the look on her face spoke of memories both painful and long buried, and he couldn't bring himself to hurt her yet again. Instead, he'd let her walk away and dive back into her work, where she'd been ever since.

His reverie was broken by footsteps on the deck – soft civilian footsteps, not hard-soled military shoes. He looked up to find Rachel coming around the corner with two mugs.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" He asked hopefully.

"The sick mouse lived." She said, handing him a mug.

"Sounds good. But please remember I'm about 20 steps and several college degrees behind you." He went to take a sip, and was surprised to smell coffee. He looked at her and drank appreciatively. She laughed.

"I'm not going to waste my precious stock of tea on someone who doesn't enjoy it. Even if watching the faces you make _is_ entertaining." She sipped from her own mug before giving a more detailed explanation. "I found the strain I needed to make the cure airborne, injected a healthy mouse with it, and put the healthy mouse in with a sick one. The sick mouse successfully caught the cure and lived."

"That _is_ good. What's next?"

"Human trials. Which is something of a logistical issue, as everyone aboard has already been cured."

"So we need to go find you some sick people."

"And some volunteers to spread the cure to them."

"Well, we'll be in New Orleans soon. I'll rustle up some volunteers for you. And some champagne. Next time you come see me with good news, we'll toast to it properly."

"I look forward to it." She said, leaning on the railing and looking out at the horizon. "It's nice up here. I'd forgotten what fresh air smells like."

"No, really? Spending all your time in the lab like that?" he teased. "But you're right. This is my second-favorite seat on the ship."

"Your _second_ favorite? Where's your first, I want to try it out."

"Well, people might look at you funny if you sat in the captain's chair. Naval protocol and all that. Not that you give a damn."

She chuckled, acknowledging the truth in his words.

"Don't tempt me."

"Hey, after all this, you've earned it."

"Are you attempting to reverse-psychology me? Because I will absolutely go sit in that chair."

"Don't spill tea on it."

"Oh, it would do you good." She said, moving as if to head to the bridge, but stumbling on the deck tread. He reached out and caught her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little off-balance. I never have gotten truly used to the way a ship moves."

"We're in calm seas, Rachel." He pulled her, gently, so she faced him directly. She looked exhausted, and from the way she gripped his hand, she was somewhat unsteady on her feet. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Um…breakfast?"

"Coffee and toast doesn't count." She didn't reply to that. He sighed, stood up and guided her to his now-empty seat.

"Stay put. I won't have you falling and hitting your head on the railing. I'll be right back."

He was back less than three minutes later with a plate of food, only to find her passed out in the seat.

"Should've seen that coming." He muttered to himself, setting down the plate. "Rachel. Hello, earth to Rachel! There are far better places to sleep on this ship." He reached for her shoulder, shaking it gently, getting no response. He was starting to get concerned. He took her wrist and felt for a pulse, which was slow but steady. He watched her breathe; also slow but even. He sighed. Taking a moment to bring the plate and mugs inside to the bridge, he tried to wake her one more time before picking her up.

Making his way with Rachel in his arms to his at-sea cabin, the closest available bed he could think of, he spotted O'Connor's head do a double take.

"And this is how rumors get started, Rachel." He muttered to himself before calling out down the p-way. "O'Connor!"

"Yes, sir!"

Tom pointed at his cabin door.

"Get the hatch for me?"

"Yes sir!"

Tom carried her sleeping form straight to the bed, getting O'Connor to pull the sheets open for her.

"Is she okay, sir?"

"I think she'll be fine, but I'd wager she's slept perhaps four hours in the last forty-eight. She came to tell me she'd made a breakthrough, and then passed out when she sat down."

"Bet she hasn't eaten much either." He glanced at the young man, remembering that he would know, having spent time in her lab guarding Sorensen.

"She hasn't. Could you go to the galley and get her some food? Something that will keep – she'll sleep a while, but she'll probably be starving when she wakes up."

"Yes, sir." O'Connor said, leaving the cabin. Tom spent the next couple of minutes settling Rachel, taking off her shoes and tucking her in. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed.

"You never think of yourself, do you?" he said quietly. "We'll just have to keep a closer eye on you."

Just then, O'Connor came back with a plate of saran-wrapped PB&J sandwiches and a bottle of water.

"This is what they had on hand, sir, but Bacon's offered to make whatever she wants when she wakes up."

"Thank you." He nodded, dismissing him. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a note.

 _Rachel –_

 _The breakthrough is nice, but try not to break yourself in the process._

 _-Tom_

 _P.S. Bacon has offered to make you a hot meal when you wake up. Your choice._

He left the note next to the food, took a last look at her sleeping form, and turned out the light before leaving.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel woke slowly, becoming vaguely aware of being someplace new. The smell was familiar however, even if she couldn't name it; it was comforting and she chose to linger in her half-awake state based on its presence. However, she was forced to re-assess leaving this warm cocoon when her bladder made its demands known. She opened her eyes, spotting what she needed right in front of her, and made use of the facilities. When she came back out to the main cabin, her eyes landed on two sandwiches and a bottle of water, which suddenly looked delicious. Once she'd gotten through the first half-sandwich, she read the note next to the plate.

 _Tom must have brought me here. But where is here?_ She looked around. This cabin was pretty sparsely decorated, though there were a few pictures on the wall, and upon closer inspection, they contained familiar faces. She crinkled her forehead in confusion. She'd already been in Tom's cabin, and this wasn't it. Where was she? Realizing her thoughts had carried her through the first sandwich, she opened the second. She devoured it quickly, eyes roaming the room for clues about her whereabouts. She found her shoes neatly stowed at the head of the bed, and a decent view out of the window, which meant she was on one of the upper decks. _Porthole. It's called a porthole aboard ship_ , she thought as she polished off the second sandwich.

Well, time to find out where Tom had stowed her. She sat back upon the bed and reached for her shoes, only to stop as a glint of metal caught her eye.

 _That isn't – is it?_ She thought to herself. It _looked_ like Tom's wedding ring. And its location next to a picture of Darien certainly lent weight to that idea. Just then, she heard the hatch open and heard his voice.

"Good evening, sleepyhead. Have a nice nap?" She blinked, breaking her gaze from the bedside table to look at him. And his fingers. They were bare. He noticed, of course. "Took it off last week." He told her softly. "It was time."

" _Last week?_ " she said in disbelief.

He gave her a gentle smile.

"I _was_ a little surprised you didn't notice it during the verdict." She colored at that, remembering how tightly she had clung to that very hand as the sentence had been read. "But I understand that you had other things on your mind." He rubbed his left ring finger with his right hand. "It feels weird not to wear it, truthfully. It was as much a part of my uniform as my insignia. But it felt…dishonest to wear it, somehow."

"Dishonest?" she asked.

"I finally realized… finally _accepted…_ that she's gone. I still love her, and it still hurts. But…she's gone. And once I crossed that line…if she really is gone…then I'm not married. And wedding rings are for married people." Rachel nodded. She knew plenty of widowed people that wore their rings until they died, but she'd also met those that didn't. Each one had their own timeline. If he didn't _feel_ married anymore, then his decision made sense. She looked up as he went on. "It's a weird feeling, not being married. It was a fundamental part of how I defined myself. It's… disorienting."

"I'd imagine so." She said, suddenly feeling out of her depth. Quincy hadn't been right when he'd accused her of not having skin in the game, but he hadn't been far off the mark regarding Michael. She kept her thoughts off her face, though, and listened as Tom continued, continuing to look at his empty finger.

"Knowing she's not going to be there when I get home… not being able to talk to her or write her a letter… I feel sort of untethered, at loose ends, and I'm not used to that. The best I can do is knowing that she's looking down on me and the kids from heaven, and sometimes I think about what I'll say when I meet her again one day." He looked up at Rachel. "I know you don't have use for such notions, but it helps me sleep at night."

Rachel looked away, ashamed. She remembered that conversation too – the way she'd lashed out at him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I try to keep such things to myself, I know I'm in the minority on that subject."

"Your feelings are your own, and you're entitled to them. Though I'll admit to wondering how you came by them."

She looked at him for a long moment, but eventually spoke.

"My father was a missionary." She said slowly, watching for his reaction. He seemed a little surprised at that, but there was no judgment there. "I watched him repeatedly deny a doctor's request to treat my mother for malaria. He said such things were up to god, not man." She watched horrified comprehension dawn on Tom's face. "I decided I'd rather believe in no God than the God that let my mother die a slow, preventable death. And I never forgave my father."

"I don't think I would have either." He said, looking at her. "I can't imagine _not_ doing whatever it took – " he trailed off, closing his eyes to see Darien's face. He opened his eyes, seeing more to the story in Rachel's expression, and made a guess. "How old were you?" he asked.

"Ten." She told him. "Ten years old, and in a strange country. The only person there who made sense to me was the doctor who tried to help her."

"That explains a lot." He said.

"I suppose a psychiatrist would say something about overcompensating for childhood traumas."

"Is it really overcompensating at this point? You've saved our lives, and I'm pretty sure you're not nearly done yet." He watched as she reached for her shoes once more, visibly uncomfortable with the praise. "You're going to have to get used to that, you know." He told her softly.

"I know. But I don't like it, and I didn't ask for it." He nodded. As an officer – especially a captain – being a public figure was expected. Rachel was a scientist, who was ill-equipped to handle sudden, unexpected celebrity, and he knew she would have been happier without it. She glanced at him while she laced her shoes and sought a change of subject. "What is this place, anyway? I thought you already had a cabin?"

"This is my at-sea cabin, next to the bridge. It's a place for me to crash when I might be called to the bridge on short notice. Sort of like the way you put a cot in your lab."

"Logical." Rachel said, standing.

"You going to take Bacon up on his offer?"

"Actually, I was thinking a shower was in order at this point."

"You do realize Bacon will be highly offended if you don't, right?"

"I'll go after I get a shower." She promised.

"And then maybe some more rack time. You only slept for seven hours."

"Which is plenty."

"Bullshit. You can't tell me you're all caught up, I know better. Besides, you can't do anything until we reach land, so you might as well."

"Good evening, Tom." She said in exasperation, moving towards the door. He held up a hand to block her path briefly.

"Rachel. You need to take better care of yourself. If I thought it would do any good, I would order you to. As it is, I'm asking – please think about yourself from time to time." He waited until she looked at him and nodded before he stepped aside. After she exited the cabin, he sighed quietly, knowing that his request was probably going to be forgotten in short order.


	5. Chapter 5

"Yeah, that's the spot." He said, wincing as she taped on his bandages.

"Just trying to keep you from bleeding to death, Tom." She told him. "I'd appreciate if you didn't do this again. We were frighteningly close to losing you."

"Yeah, well, I'm too stubborn for that."

"So I'd noticed." She agreed. "I still need to operate again to get that last bit of shrapnel, you know."

"How long would I be under?"

"Hard to say. It was touch and go there for a while."

"Then I'm not going under. Not now."

"Are you questioning my judgment or is it a matter of authority?"

"What?"

"Tom, you need this surgery. You simply _cannot_ walk around with shrapnel next to your liver. It's a ticking time bomb that can _literally kill you_. Now, are you questioning my judgment or do I need to get Rios in here to declare you medically unfit?"

"Rachel, we have a hostile submarine out there, and no functional sonar. I can't simply 'take a couple of days' to have surgery."

" _Captain_ , this ship cannot afford to lose you because you are a pig-headed idiot. You have an executive officer for this exact reason."

"Okay, _Doctor_ , what is a reasonable time estimate for me being a) unconscious b) mentally incapacitated and c) physically incapacitated?"

"Well, worst case scenario – I'd estimate six to eight hours for the surgery itself, but more likely three to four. Given your demonstrated pain tolerance and general stubbornness, I'd say a day of stupefying pain meds, and maybe a week of limited mobility and lesser pain meds. But didn't anyone ever tell you the captain is supposed to sit on the bridge, not join landing parties?" She smirked as she delivered the last bit. "So, really, only a day away from your captaining. Surely Slattery can handle that." He opened his mouth to object to her reasoning, but she rolled right over his attempt to speak. "So who should I talk to first, the XO, saying you question his abilities, or Doc Rios, to declare you unfit for duty?"

"…You fight dirty."

"If that's what it takes." She said simply, crossing her arms. "So what is it going to be?"

"Can I at least talk to Mike and Michener first?"

"I'll call them down." She said, smiling.

. . . . . . . . . .

A short time later, after the two visiting men had left, she went back in.

"So?" She asked. "Exactly how stubborn are we going to be?"

"We need to take care of the sub. Mike's good, but anti-sub warfare is more my thing than his." He saw her objection forming on his face, and sought to placate her. "It should be over, in a day, maybe two. At which point I promise you can come back aboard and play with your scalpels."

"Wait, what?" she was confused. "What do you mean, 'Back aboard'?"

"This sub is _dangerous_. There is a very real chance the ship will go down. You, the cure, the president, the kids… _must_ be protected. You and the cure, for the sake of the world. The president, for the sake of the country. The kids, because they _are_ the country. You need to be on dry land. If we kill this sub, I will come get you. And I will happily let you get this shrapnel out of me. Hell, I'd consider it a victory celebration."

She looked at him, shocked. This ship – this captain – had endured so many things, such long odds, so many times. It was so very hard to believe that this latest threat could actually be the one to bring them down, but from the look on his face, he believed it. And that sent a chill down her spine for reasons that had nothing to do with shrapnel.

"Tom – " she whispered, her normal bravado gone. "What if you don't come back for us?"

"Then this surgery is a moot point." Looking at her stricken face, he tried to soften his statement. "But I will do my damndest to be there for it. I promise."

She saw his attempt to reassure her, and did her best to meet him halfway.

"You also promise to take care of yourself, not just the ship? No running, no jumping, no physical heroics? Just walking, sitting, and standing?"

"Yes." He agreed, recognizing how much ground she was giving. "I'll be good."

She snorted.

"Right. In that case, take off your shirt and sit up straight." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to bandage you more tightly to restrict your movement. The less you bend that area, the better." He watched as she worked, putting on a look of martyred tolerance as she wrapped his entire torso so tightly it felt like he could barely breathe.

"Does it really _need_ to be that tight?" he complained.

"The better to remind you." She smiled at him. She then took out a marker, leaning over to write on him. _Do not remove, warranty void if broken_ _– RS_. She made sure to write across it in such a way that she could tell if it had been tampered with.

"Very funny."

"If I see you've undone this – " she said, tapping the bandage.

"I won't." He intercepted her hand and squeezed it. "Promise." He kept ahold of her hand, waiting until she looked him in the eyes. "I know I'm a pain in the ass patient. Thank you for putting up with me." He said sincerely. "Also, the bit where you saved my life is pretty awesome too." He added lightly.

"You're welcome." She said, doing her best to match his tone. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling it back to hand him his shirt. "Now, go kill that sub ASAP. I'll feel better once you're shrapnel-free."

"Will do. Now get packing. You go on shore in two hours."

"See you in an hour and a half." She replied, hurrying out of the compartment, leaving him to his own preparations.


	6. Chapter 6

Mike Slattery looked down at the envelope in his hands. He hoped he never had to deliver it. Then he looked back up at his CO – his friend – and swore to do just that.

"Understood." He promised. "You gonna take care of the rest?"

"The rest?" Tom asked.

"You gonna talk to her?" When all he got in reply was a blank stare, he sighed in exasperation. "Tom, you care about her. We all see it. _Tex_ sees it, and we all know how he feels about her. So do the man a solid and stop stringing this out."

"But what if…?"

"What if? You really haven't been paying attention, have you?" Mike laughed before becoming serious again. "Worst case scenario, you talk to her, and the ship goes down. She at least knows you cared. Next worst case – highly unlikely in my opinion – she says no, we kill this sub, and it's a little awkward for the next couple of weeks after we pick her up. But every other scenario – just talk to her, Tom. You'll regret it if you don't."

Just then, the last of the landing party came through the loading bay, ending with Tex and Rachel. Mike clapped Tom's shoulder one last time, gave him a significant look, and moved out. Tom watched as Tex extolled the virtues of a good gumbo to Rachel, and his heart sank a little at the smile she was giving him. But then Tex stopped, patted down his vest, and cursed.

"Shit."

"What have you forgotten?" she asked, turning back to look at him.

"I think – maybe – wait, I bet Mike has one." Is all he said before he took off, leaving Rachel frozen in confusion. Tom almost missed the wink that Tex sent his way over Rachel's shoulder, but he kept himself from reacting. _Does everyone on this ship think…?_ Then he answered himself. _Yes, they do, idiot. And if you think about it, you know why._

"Rachel." He said.

"Yes?"

"I – " he absently-mindedly scratched at his bandage as he tried to articulate what he was having trouble saying.

"Is your bandage coming undone?" she asked, moving to check it; he intercepted both of her hands with his.

"No, Rachel." He said, holding her hands in between them. "I just - I wanted to tell you – "

"Tell me what?" she asked softly, recognizing the shift in his demeanor.

"That I will move heaven and earth to come back to you tomorrow." She looked up at him with wide eyes, not sure if he was saying what she thought – she hoped – he was saying. "To _you._ "

"Tom…" she said, blinking on sudden tears. "If you don't…I…" he reached up to wipe her cheek.

" _Heaven and Earth_. If I have to swim ten miles back to shore, I will."

"Tom, I …" He felt her lean into his touch as words failed her, and tried to lower his face to hers, but winced and stopped short. She giggled through her tears, took pity on him, and stood on her toes to meet his lips. It was a bit awkward as she teetered on her toes, but it was gentle and filled with promises – promises that were repeated in his eyes as she lowered herself back down.

"It'll be better once I get this stupid bandage off. Some Nurse Rachet type wrapped it way too tight to do anything fun."

"You keep talking about her like that, she may leave it that way."

"Well, it'd be for her benefit too." He said, pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin; her arms wrapped around him in return. He was quite sure he would never tire of this; they fit together perfectly.

"Hey Doc! You coming or not?" They looked up to find Tex leaning around the corner, grinning at the sight in front of him. "About damned time." Then he laughed at Rachel as she blushed furiously. "C'mon, they're holding the RHIB for you."

"Goodbye, Tom. Be careful."

He kissed her forehead before releasing her.

"You too."

Rachel moved towards the door, glancing back at Tom and doing her best to ignore the amusement on Tex's face as they moved to the RHIB.

"Shut up."

"Wasn't going to say anything."

The look she gave him was withering.

As if to prove her wrong, Tex didn't say a single word – to anyone – until after they reached land. But she'd have been blind not to see him hand a five-dollar bill to Mike, or Mike's huge grin when he got it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Vulture team to mother, come in."

" _Mother to vulture team, over."_

"Request permission to return to base."

There was a long moment before the radio squawked again, but it was a different voice.

"Granted. I'm guessing you had something to do with that?"

The group grinned at the voice of their captain.

"We may have commandeered some of the enemy's equipment."

"Thanks, Mike. Come on home."

"Will do. Gonna pick up the others and come in. I suspect at least two of them will want to talk to you right away."

"I'll do a quick debrief, and you can tell her I'll meet her in sickbay."

"That ought to make her happy. See you in 30."

They walked back into the camp where they'd left the civilians with a sense of intense satisfaction. Mike took the lead, greeting Burke with a smile on his face.

"What happened? You take care of the battery?"

"Better. Took care of the sub."

"What!?"

Tex chimed in.

"Took out their guys, stole their ammo. Sub made the mistake of surfacing within range."

"Nice!"

"So we can go back aboard now?" Dr. Scott asked anxiously.

Mike chuckled at her query.

"Yes, Doc." He watched her face as she tried to keep her composure. "And he's promised to meet you in sickbay after he briefs the president."

"Good." She said, allowing herself a smile. "Let's go."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom peered through the hatch to sickbay. He saw her gathering things and waited until she stepped into the supply closet, then snuck into an empty compartment and sat on the lower bunk. He watched her come back out, reading the labels on the IV bag, still unaware of his presence.

"Hey Doc, I've got this really annoying shrapnel I need looked at."

"Tom!" she said, rushing to him, dropping the bag she was holding in the process. He reached out and took her in his arms, pulling her onto his lap.

"Rachel." He said simply, breathing her in, sharing the relief of simply seeing each other again. Eventually he drew back, looking her in the eyes. Another long moment, and his right hand found its way up her back, tangling in the hair at the back of her head and guiding her face to his. Their lips met, and he kissed her slowly, gently, but quite thoroughly. But the need for air eventually overcame them, and he grinned at her as they parted. "Welcome back."

"'Welcome back' indeed." She said, giggling. He marveled at the woman still wrapped in his arms, making noises he never thought he'd hear from her. "What?" she asked.

"Just enjoying the way you giggle." He watched her blush before continuing. "It's adorable."

"I am not _adorable_." She replied as stiffly as she could manage.

"Right. You are the stoic British doctor with a stiff upper lip and enough nerve to tell off a captain aboard his own damn ship." She sniffed, seemingly mollified, and moved to pick up the dropped IV bag. "And you're adorable." He added quietly, smirking.

"You're an ass, you know that, Tom?"

"Perhaps. Speaking of …" he said, his eyes lingering on her backside as she bent to pick up the IV bag.

"Are you always this lecherous?" she demanded once she realized where he was looking.

"Only in private. I have a reputation to maintain, you know. Captain, naval decorum, you know."

She raised an eyebrow at him. She could have a lot of fun playing this game.

"Alright, let's get to it then." She said, eyes twinkling. "Here, let me help you take off your shirt."

He grinned at her as she took off his shirt, letting her hand trail suggestively across his chest as she removed his bandages – then he winced audibly as she deliberately poked him in the most tender spot.

"Rios! Can you bring the ultrasound machine in here? I need to see if this shrapnel has moved."

"Hey!" he said, looking comically betrayed.

"What? The sooner we get this shrapnel out of you, the sooner you can heal."

"And exactly how long will that take?" he asked.

"You'll be sore for several days, and you should refrain from strenuous activities." She told him, giving him a warning glance.

"Several days, huh?" he sounded disappointed.

"Yes, Tom. You don't want to tear any stitches. Then we'll be right back where we started." She stepped back as Rios walked in with the equipment. "So, _captain,_ you need to refrain from your usual away-party adventures. That's what junior officers are for." The two men couldn't see each other, as Rios was setting up the machine, which meant she got to see Rios smirk and Tom look offended – followed by a warning look and a glance in the medic's direction.

"All hooked up, Ma'am."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He said, leaving the compartment. Tom waited until the man was gone before reaching out for her hand and pulling her closer, addressing Rachel in low, serious tones.

"Rachel – I'm not saying you can't tease me. Just try to remember your audience."

"I'm not allowed to tease you in front of the crew?"

"Well, a little bit is probably okay. The crew already knows you've never been afraid of me in the slightest, but _they_ still need to fear me a little bit. Just…try to keep it reasonable." He paused, realizing he should go ahead and explain something else naval decorum would require. "And there will be situations where I _want_ to say certain things to you, or hold your hand, but I can't. So let me go ahead and apologize in advance."

"You can't even hold my hand?"

"Public displays of affection in uniform, with few exceptions, are frowned upon. It can erode naval discipline, and it's more important than ever now. The no fraternization rule doesn't technically apply to you, but - "

"We should be discreet."

"Exactly. It doesn't have to be a secret, but it should probably stay behind closed doors."

"No movie nights with the crew, then?" her tone was light, but he could tell she was disappointed.

"We could watch movies in my cabin. Smaller screen, better seating. You like screwball comedies?"

"I'll hold you to that. Now let's get this out of you. Hold still while I find it…"


	8. Chapter 8

Tom awoke to find a Rachel-shaped form asleep on the side of his bed, holding his hand loosely. He raised that hand briefly to run his fingers through her hair.

"Rachel."

She lifted her head and blinked at him.

"Hi there."

"How long was I out?"

"Not long. It was only a couple of hours in surgery. Then you slept for several hours."

"And you've been here the whole time?"

"Most of it."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." She said, smiling at him; he smiled back.

"So I'm all good?"

"Once the incisions heal, you will be." She said, knowing better than to give him anything that could be interpreted as an all-clear yet. "Speaking of which, here comes Rios."

"Sir, it's time to change those." He said, pointing at Tom's bandages. "It may hurt a bit."

"I'll be fine." He said, ignoring Rachel's eyeroll at the machismo in that statement. Unfortunately, his body betrayed him and he winced slightly at a sudden twinge of pain. She smirked at him, which he did his best to ignore, keeping his eyes on the wound as Rios changed the dressing. The stitches were noticeably less neat and precise than the first set of stitches. He turned to her with a small smile.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you do your best work under pressure."

"Uh, that's actually Dr. Milowski's handiwork." She said, embarrassed.

"Yeah?" he asked, but she was hesitant to answer him.

"She discovered why you're not supposed to practice medicine on people you care about." Rios supplied helpfully, as he finished taping on a fresh bandage.

"I, uh, froze up completely at the first incision. I was suddenly terrified of making a mistake."

He looked at her in silence, her face turning bright red as she looked down, hiding behind the curtain of her hair as the medic gathered up his supplies and exited.

"I guess I should be flattered." He said quietly once Rios had left, reaching over to pull her hair back behind her ear. "Why are you so embarrassed?"

"Because I knew exactly what to do… and couldn't. Because it was you." She said, looking down. He took her hand into his.

"Rachel, why do you think I left my kids in Norfolk? Things were so irregular then I could have kept them with me. And I wanted to. This ship was at least under my control; Norfolk wasn't. But I knew that I would never risk the _James_ again, not if they were on it, and that's not what Navy ships are for."

He sat in silence, letting her process that. But then he spoke once more.

"Do you know what Quincy asked me when I interrogated him?" Rachel shook her head. "He asked me what I would do in his position, if it had been my family."

"And?"

"I didn't answer him. I couldn't. Because he was right. I _would_ do anything to save them." He shook his head in memory. "I guess what I'm saying is, welcome to the human race. We're irrational when it comes to those we love." He smiled at her. "Personally, I'm glad that your safety is a primary mission objective. Otherwise I'd have a major conflict of interest."

They sat there for a moment as the seriousness of the moment suddenly became too much.

"So, doc, when can I get out of here?" Tom asked in a deliberately light tone.

"Out of sickbay? Probably tonight – _if_ you agree to lie down and actually _rest_ in your own bed instead of working." She said.

"Does watching a movie count as resting?"

"If you're lying down, yes. Would you like some popcorn?"

"I'd prefer some company."

"That could probably be arranged." She told him with a smile. "But you should sleep now."

"So should you. Lying down, not in a chair in sickbay. I'll be fine, I promise. Now go."

"I'll be back in a few hours. With snacks."

"I'll be here."


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel woke up to the sound of soft snores. She kept her eyes closed, trying to stay in this moment for just a bit longer; last night had been a night out of time. No submarines, no viruses, no uniforms, no test tubes – just two people watching a movie. The movie, though amusing, was quickly forgotten as they talked. They talked about things that were so mundane that they became important; the act of discussing trivial things at length was something neither of them had had a chance to do in months.

And, as they talked, their hands were constantly, if chastely, exploring. She'd traced scars and asked for the stories behind them, learning about the man who had joined the navy to spite his father and the boy who attempted to fly out of a treehouse. He'd held her and stroked her hair as they talked, finding the spot behind her ear that tickled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe and relaxed. They had shared several cautious kisses, mindful of his injuries – Rachel lay on his good side – and Tom swore to repay her patience once he was fully healed. Eventually, both had drifted off to sleep still entangled on his bed.

It had been a magical night, and she didn't want to wake up. But now her bladder was forcing the issue, and she opened her eyes. She saw the rise and fall of his chest from her perch on his shoulder, and the clock on the nightstand read four am. _Good, another couple of hours._ She very slowly began to extricate herself from his arms, hearing him murmur objections as he drowsily pulled her back.

"Tom, I'll be right back. Promise." She said, kissing his cheek. He made a noise that sounded something vaguely like assent, and let her pull away.

When she came back, his eyes were slitted against the light from the head, and he reached for her as she pulled back the covers. He pulled her on top of him so that she was lying askew on his good side, and kissed her, so fiercely she couldn't help but respond. It wasn't until he started pulling up her shirt that he disengaged long enough for her to even think about getting a word out.

" _Tom"_. He blinked at her tone. "Tom, we can't. Not yet. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you."

"Oh." He said, shaking his head, eyes focusing.

"Awake now, are we?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I don't usually start things I can't finish."

"Well, I'll let it slide this time." She said lightly. "If nothing else, it was a hell of a compliment. In the meantime, we've got a while longer to ourselves. So settle down and go back to sleep. Big day today."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, letting her move to a more comfortable position without letting her go.

. . . . . . . .

She became aware of the man making his way towards her; he seemed determined to reach her, specifically, passing up other sailors who were spreading the cure, even though the low turnout in Vicksburg meant some sailors were unoccupied. He wasn't the only one who seemed to want it 'straight from the source', as it were, but he moved towards her like she was the best option. When he arrived, he paused, suddenly nervous, before addressing her.

"So, uh, my friend says that a kiss is the surest way to get the cure."

She looked at him, amused. His approach was less than subtle, but his hesitant delivery was still sort of charming. She gave him a gentle shake of the head.

"It is one of the more effective ways. But sharing a water bottle is just as effective."

"Aww." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I heard the cute doctor was giving out kisses. My friend said he got one."

"Unless your friend is under the age of ten, I'm pretty sure he's lying to you."

"Pretty sure?"

"I've kissed exactly one man today…this morning, aboard the Nathan James." _And one hell of a kiss it was_ she remembered, coloring slightly. "So unless your friend is the naval officer standing about five meters behind me, your friend is lying."

She watched with amusement as he peered around her to look at Tom. His eyes went wide in shock.

"Is that… the captain?" She simply smiled in reply. The man looked suddenly sheepish. "My apologies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go kill my friend before I commit hari-kari."

"No need for all that. You were a gentleman about it."

"Can I still kill my friend?"

"I would prefer if you didn't. We went to a lot of trouble to cure him."

"Fair point. I'll think of something. Thank you for the cure." 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Jennifer and Emily: your two comments on Nov 13th essentially sum up how I feel about it. Honestly, I wouldn't have been nearly so irked about how her exit was handled if they'd introduced Sasha almost any other way. Maybe they served together before he met Darien, and had had chemistry but couldn't date because of regs, or something else like that. Really, anything more gradual, that didn't have him moping one scene and blatantly flirting the next would have been an improvement. But I digress. On with the fic!

_.

The recently sworn-in president looked around. The Inaugural Ball was well and truly under way, and he was standing with Captain Chandler, listening to (yet another recitation of) the tale of the Nathan James when suddenly the tale suddenly ceased. He looked over at the captain and found him tracking someone on the other side of the room, near the entrance. Following his gaze, he found one Dr. Rachel Scott…dressed very differently than she was when they had left the ship this morning. She had been wearing her usual jeans and a sweater; now she was wearing a black lacy number which was turning more than a few heads.

"Oh, go on." Michener said, chuckling. "We'll be fine." That, and a gentle nudge, was all it took to get him moving across the floor. He turned to his other guests. "You'll have to forgive him. I don't believe he's ever seen her in a dress before."

"Who is she?"

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is Dr. Rachel Scott."

" _The_ Dr. Scott?"

"Yes."

They looked on as the two met, Dr. Scott's eyes lighting up as she saw him approaching in dress uniform. She accepted his arm, then blushed darkly as he whispered in her ear with a mischievous smile.

"Damn. My sister is going to be _so_ disappointed." Michener raised an eyebrow at the speaker. "What?" she asked. "He's handsome in that uniform. If I were single, I'd be disappointed too."

. . . . . . . .

Michener looked around the ballroom. The man he was looking for _should_ be easy to spot. However, he was not to be found. His XO, though, was.

"Commander Slattery?"

"Can I help you sir?"

"Have you seen Captain Chandler?"

"Left a few minutes ago, sir."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"…Don't think he was planning on it, sir." Something about the commander's tone made Michener raise an eyebrow. "Just saying, sir. Last time I saw him, he and the Doc were joined at the hip."

"…Of course." He sighed. "I'll have to catch him tomorrow."

. . . . . . .

The pair were making their way down the hallway, their forward progress somewhat hampered by their inability to keep their hands to themselves. They were standing in front of his door, Tom's efforts to reach his room key thwarted by Rachel grabbing his jacket and kissing him soundly, when they heard a voice.

"Y'all seen the British doctor?"

They paused, Tom opening one eye and peering over Rachel's head to look at the speaker. Upon recognizing the man, his blood ran cold. Rachel sensed his sudden tension, the way he froze, and the way he suddenly held her too tightly to even turn her head around.

"Tom?" she whispered.

"Shhh." He said quietly.

"Dr. Scott? I think I saw her downstairs." Tom said, keeping his own face hidden by immediately kissing her again. He didn't want either one of them being recognized. She caught on quickly, bringing her hands to either side of his head.

"Where downstairs?" the stranger persisted.

Tom gave a blatant exasperated sigh. Rachel looked at him under cover of her hands.

"I've got an idea." She whispered. "Don't act surprised." He nodded infinitesimally. Then, in a perfect southern twang, Rachel addressed the man behind her. "Lordy, can't you see we're busy? Now skedaddle!"

"Apologies, Ma'am. Good night."

They closed for another kiss until Tom pulled back and opened the door, practically shoving her in his room.

"He's gone."

"Tom, who was that!?"

"That was Curtis - an Immune." He said, picking up the phone to notify the secret service. "Can you bring me my bag?" he asked, pointing. "Captain Chandler here. I need to speak with the secret service about an imminent threat." Taking the bag from Rachel, he opened it and pulled out a small case. "Yes, I just saw an Immune named Curtis in the building. He was looking for Doctor Scott, but you need to secure the president now. And please send my men up to my room. Slattery, Green, Burke, Wolf, Miller. Room 33." He hung up the phone and turned back to Rachel after he verified his weapon was loaded.

"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" he asked, curious.

"The CDC is based in Atlanta. Spent a bit of time there."

"Thank god."

"Um, what should I do?"

"You'll be fine if you stay here. Our guys should be here soon." He looked at her, assessing her quickly. "It would be a good idea to take off your heels, just in case." He decided, frowning.

"You sound disappointed."

"I am. You're much easier to kiss with them on." He said. "But on the off chance you need to run…"

"In this dress?"

"You could take that off, too." He said, allowing himself a brief but salacious grin as he stood guard by the door. "Though that's certainly not how I _expected_ it to come off tonight."

She raised an eyebrow at Tom's ability to flirt under these conditions.

"And how did you imagine it happening?" she said saucily, walking towards him, causing him to groan as he tried to maintain focus.

"Well, for starters, I expected to be helping you…" Suddenly they heard multiple pairs of feet running down the hall. "That's probably our guys."

"Probably. Hopefully they can take care of this soon." She said, getting close enough to whisper in his ear as he looked out the peephole. "Because I _will_ need help getting out of this dress." His strangled response was cut off by a knock at the door.

"Sir?" Lt. Green's voice came through the door.

"Nice response time." Tom said, opening the door. "You armed?"

"Yes, sir. You okay here?"

"Better now that you're here. I saw Curtis in the hallway."

"He's here? Damn. Did he see her?"

"He saw us, but didn't recognize us. Managed to bluff him into thinking that she was still downstairs."

"He didn't recognize you at all?" Burke was somewhat incredulous. The captain was still in full dress uniform, for heaven's sake!

"He didn't exactly get a good look at our faces. And Rachel can pull off an astonishingly convincing southern accent."

Five heads swiveled in Dr. Scott's direction to find her attempting to hide her beet red face behind her hands. Mike grinned openly once he connected the dots – the rest struggled to keep their amusement to themselves. Finally, she sighed and went with it.

"Y'all done gawkin' yet?" she asked.

Miller tittered at that, breaking the dam. After the wave of laughter died down, Miller spoke up.

"Never thought I'd hear that from you, ma'am. It's a very good accent."

"It _was_ fun to mess with new people at the CDC." She admitted. "Won several bets that way."

"Win anything good?" Tom asked.

"Mostly drinks. Naming rights, once."

"Naming rights?"

"I named a particularly nasty microbe after my first ex-boyfriend."

"Ouch." Mike said, suddenly looking forward to story time at future Chandler family picnics.

Just then, the phone rang.

"Chandler." He listened for a moment. "Thank you." He looked around after he hung up. "The president is secure, but they're still sweeping the building."

Mike looked at his men.

"Okay, boys, two-man sentry on the door at all times. Green, tell that fiancée of yours I'm sorry."

"Fiancée?" Rachel said "Congratulations, Danny!"

"Thank you, ma'am." He turned to his team, urging them towards the door. "Burke, Miller, first shift. Wolf, let's go check Dr. Scott's room. Sirs, Ma'am." Mike nodded, dismissing them before talking to Tom.

"I'll go coordinate with the secret service. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks." Once Mike left, Tom sat on the bed and placed his sidearm within easy reach on the nightstand. "Well, this certainly isn't how I'd hoped tonight would go."

"Me either."

"Might as well get comfortable." He said, unbuttoning his jacket. "You want to change? I have some extra Tshirts in my bag."

"You just want me out of this dress."

" _Au contrair_. I love you in that dress. Can you keep it?"

"I don't know. It was a loan. I could ask, I guess."

"Oh, please do."

"Then why the offer of your shirt?"

"We might be waiting a while. I can't imagine that dress is comfortable to sleep in." He smiled. "But I can get the guys to bring your things once they've cleared your room, if you like."

"You're a sweet man." She said, sitting next to him and kissing him. He kissed her back, but she could tell he was distracted. "You're really worried about this Curtis, aren't you?"

"Yeah. He wasn't the most stable of the bunch – and it wasn't the most sane bunch to start with. I don't know exactly what he wants, but I know it's nothing good." His arm tightened around her, and she felt her eyes prickle at the protective gesture. While she knew she was in real, specific danger, somehow she'd never felt safer. She pulled her feet up on the bed and snuggled against Tom to wait for the all-clear.

. . . . . .

Mike knocked quietly on the door to the captain's room at five a.m.

"Come in." came Tom's voice, low but carrying.

Mike opened the door, finding Tom and Rachel on the bed still dressed in formal attire. Tom was sitting up against the headboard, one hand on the weapon lying next to him, and the other arm resting on Rachel's shoulder as she slept, her head in his lap.

"We got him." Mike said without preamble.

"Good. Was he alone?"

"From what we can tell, yes." He paused. "He also had a gun." Mike watched as Tom's nostrils flared at that news.

"She never goes anywhere without a guard again."

"I don't know about _never_ , but for now, yes, that seems like a good idea." He looked at Tom's right hand, how his fingers curled around the weapon underneath them. "But you don't need to be one of them. We've got two perfectly good operators on the door. You focus on her."

Tom nodded, acknowledging Mike's point by putting the gun back on the table.

"Thanks, Mike." He said sincerely, letting his head tilt back and his eyes close for the first time that night.

"'Night."


	11. Chapter 11

Tom awoke to a knock on the door and looked at the clock. Eight am. It had only been an hour since a bleary-eyed Rachel had been summoned to talk to the president, taking Miller and Wolf with her. He was highly tempted to ignore whoever it was at the door, but then they knocked again.

"Tom, you in there?"

"Dad?" he pulled himself out of bed and opened the door to find his father and his (very sleepy) children there. "I thought your flight wasn't coming in until this afternoon."

"Got moved up." He looked at Tom. "I hear you had a rough night."

"Yeah. Uh, come in. Did they get you a room?"

"Yes – it even adjoins with yours."

"Good. Good." Tom said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Closing the door, he turned to see his kids staring at the gun on the nightstand. He wasn't worried about their safety – they knew better than to touch it – but they also knew, even in their tired state, that something was wrong. He had _never_ left it out at home. He hurried over to put it away. "Why don't you settle in, guys, get some sleep?" he said, pointing at the adjoining doorway.

"Good idea, son." Jed agreed, herding the kids in that direction. "C'mon."

Tom had just finished putting his sidearm back in its case in the closet when he felt Ashley's eyes on him from the doorway.

"What is it, Ash?"

"Whose dress is that?" she asked, pointing. _Ah, hell. Not how I wanted to break the news_. But he made it a policy to never lie to his kids, so he was honest.

"Dr. Scott's. Do you remember her?"

"A little. She made the cure." She said. "Why is it here?"

"She stayed here last night. It wasn't safe to go back to her room."

"Why?"

"You remember how I told you some people didn't want us spreading the cure?" She nodded. "One of them came to the hotel last night, looking for her. That's why I had my gun out."

"Is he gone?"

"We have him locked up. But we're keeping a guard on her anyway."

Just then, the hallway door opened. Tom knew it was Rachel, and opened his mouth to introduce her, but the words died on his lips as he caught her expression. She looked…defeated, staring at the floor. It took a moment to come up with the term, because a defeated Rachel wasn't something he was familiar with.

"Rachel, what happened?"

"The president's sending me to Nebraska. Tonight."

"Like hell he is. It's not safe." He went to her, wrapping her in his arms, a fresh burst of adrenaline piercing his exhaustion. She leaned heavily against him, and he realized that she wasn't disputing the president's decision because she was _fucking exhausted_.

"He says he'll send a full security team." She said wearily.

"I don't care. And you don't _have_ to do what he says, you know. You're still a civilian."

"I – " she started, but then surrendered to the comfort of his embrace, letting him simply hold her.

"Dad?"

Rachel stiffened in his arms, and Tom cursed at himself silently.

"Yes?"

"Is that Dr. Scott?"

"Yes." He turned to face his daughter, but kept one arm around Rachel. "Rachel, I don't think I introduced you properly last time – this is Ashley. And my dad." He added as his father came into the room.

"You can call me Jed. Sam's already asleep." He told her, gesturing to a bed she couldn't see.

"Hello." She said. "Nice to meet you." It sounded natural, but Tom could tell she was uneasy. Which, given the circumstances, was understandable.

"Why don't you get changed and go back to bed?" She shot him a look of gratitude and moved to get her things. He waited until the bathroom door was shut and turned to Ashley, expecting her questions. His father simply gave him a look and went to lie down with Sam.

"You like her."

"Yes."

"A lot."

"Yes."

She cocked her head at him, thinking. She was old enough to follow the implications – had seen it with her classmates in Norfolk – and cut right to the chase.

"Is she nice?"

"Generally, yes." Ashley looked at him. He moved to the empty bed in the other room, patting a spot beside him, using the time to phrase his words properly. Darien, for all her strength, had been a soft-spoken woman, calmly reasoning with the children (and himself) when they'd done wrong. Rachel, on the other hand, could make _him_ feel like he'd been run over by a damn freight train. "Sometimes, though – she's so determined, so driven, that she's a little harsh with what she says. She's not necessarily wrong, but…"

"Like when grandpa gets mad."

Tom ignored the snort from the other bed.

"Sort of." He smiled, struck by an inspiration of how to explain the biggest difference between Darien and Rachel. "You know that mug your mom had?"

"With the writing on it?"

"Yeah, that one. About serenity and courage. I know she explained it more than once."

"Yeah. She said it was important to have both."

"Well, your mom was sort of in the middle there. Rachel has a lot more courage to change things than serenity to accept them." He hugged Ashley to him tightly. "Which isn't always a bad thing. She'll do – she _did_ – whatever it took to make the cure, even risking her own safety when I didn't want her to. It saved my life, your life, and everyone else's. But there are times I need to tell her to take a moment and relax."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all?"

"Dad…most of my classmates lost a parent…and a bunch of them have stepparents now. It's not _that_ surprising."

"Well, just so you know, I'm not trying to replace your mother. And Rachel understands that, better than you might think." Her eyebrow rose at that last bit. "You have more in common than I'd like – you both lost your mothers around the same age. She knows that it hurts, even if she doesn't talk about it much."

Ashley nodded, then yawned.

"Why don't you go to sleep? We'll talk more later. I'm going talk to the president. There's no good reason he can't send Milowski, honestly." He watched Ashley crawl into her bed before heading back to his room to change; Rachel was already sound asleep in theirs. He was pulling on his shirt when he looked up to see his father.

"Here." Jed said quietly, handing him a small box. "Probably going to need these." Tom opened it, confirming his suspicions – they were his parents' wedding rings.

"Thanks, dad. How'd you know?" They hadn't actually discussed it on their short three vid calls since leaving Norfolk. There hadn't been time.

"Your smile when her name came up." Jed said. "Hadn't seen it in a while."

"And that was enough to put it in your carry-on bag?"

Jed smiled.

"Well, I had my suspicions. But my hunch was confirmed when I ran into a fella named Tex in the lobby. Sang her praises – then told me you outbid him. So you'd better seal the deal soon, son. You've got competition."

Tom chuckled.

"No I don't. She was never into him like that."

"You're sure?"

"The entire damn ship knew how he felt months ago – Tex is not a subtle man. If she wanted him, she'd have had him."

"Then you're a lucky man."

"I know, dad. I know."

. . . .

"Dad?"

Tom woke up to see Sam's face, and it took him a second to gather his wits. The clock said it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and Sam was looking at him in confusion. Further cognition resulted in the realization that he was rather well wrapped around a sleeping Rachel, who was _not_ going to Nebraska anytime soon thanks to a very contentious conversation he'd had with President Michener.

And Sam hadn't seen her since his last exam aboard ship in Norfolk.

"Hey Sam." He said quietly, slowly pulling his arm from underneath Rachel.

"…Tom?" she murmured.

"Shh, sleep." He said, getting up and pulling the blanket over her, aware that Sam was running back into the other room. He followed his son, finding him shaking his sister awake. He paused to close the door behind him.

"G'way, Sam."

"There's a woman in dad's room!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Is she – "

Ashley, awake now, nodded and shrugged.

"Dad says she's nice."

Sam turned to his father.

"I'm sorry for surprising you like that, Sam. I'd meant to introduce you tonight at dinner."

Tom watched him process that information for a long moment.

"As long as she's not like Steve's new stepmom." Sam decided.

"She's not." Ashley assured her brother before turning to her father. "Steve's stepmom is a real – " she stopped at a look from Tom. "Anyway, Dad would never do that to us."

"No, I wouldn't." he said, sitting on the bed and reaching out to Sam. "You met her before, aboard ship. Do you remember Dr. Scott?"

"She made the vaccine – she examined me a couple of times." He thought back. "She seemed okay."

"She's better than okay, bud." He said, ruffling his son's hair. "How about you take a bath and get dressed and we'll all go out to lunch?"


	12. Chapter 12

"That went better than expected." Rachel said, as they watched the kids run down the hall ahead of them.

"Especially considering how unplanned it all was." He said, putting an arm around her waist and kissing her temple. "Hey, since you're not going to Nebraska, let's do dinner tonight. Me, you, _that dress_ , and no homicidal maniacs."

"A do-over? Sounds wonderful."

Tom grinned at her.

"It's a date."

Rachel lifted herself up and kissed his cheek.

"Can't wait."

" _Ewwww._ " Rachel blushed at Sam's voice, and Tom laughed.

"That's a good thing, for the record. He always did that…" he said, trailing off suddenly.

"Tom, you can talk about her. I'd be blind not to see that you'll always love her. And I can tell that Darien will always be an important part of this family."

Tom stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her, suddenly speechless.

"What?" she asked. Finally, he found his voice.

"Thank you." He said, pulling her tightly to him.

"For what?"

"For understanding. For me – and for the kids."

"I've been in their shoes, Tom. I'd never want to pretend their mother didn't exist, or that they shouldn't talk about her. The same goes for you."

An impatient sigh came from in front of their hotel door, where Sam was jiggling the door handle expectantly.

"Hush, Sam." Ashley said, a little more in tune to the gravity of the moment.

"You sure you want to put up with them?" Tom asked.

Rachel glanced over at the pair and gave him a sly smile.

"I put up with you."

"Hey!"

"C'mon, the children are waiting." She said, moving forward and pulling out her keycard. Tom followed entering the room to find Ashley waiting for him by the door.

"I like her." She said quietly. "Steve's stepmother took down all their old pictures. And she gets super upset when Steve talks about his mom."

He looked at his daughter sharply, eyes narrowing.

"You heard."

"Yeah. You picked a good one."

Tom stared at her, wondering where exactly his little girl had gone.

"You grew up."

"That happens."

"I know, but I hate that it happened so soon, and like this."

She shrugged; he knelt down and hugged his daughter.

"Do me a favor and try to be a kid just a little while longer."

"Too late. But you've still got Sam."

He smiled into her hair and gave her one more squeeze before letting her go.

Just then the phone rang.

"Hello?" Rachel answered. "Yes, he's here." She said, looking at Tom. "It's the president's office."

"Chandler." He said, taking the phone. "How can I help you?"

"Sir, it's actually more about how we can help you. After last night, it's clear that we need to reconsider the security of high-value personnel. The hotel you're in is both next to the courthouse and can be secured, if you would like to stay there."

Tom paused. Security for Rachel would be nice, but living in a hotel room wasn't exactly ideal for kids.

"I wouldn't mind, but my family might."

"There's an available three bedroom penthouse suite."

 _A room each for Dad, the kids…and me and Rachel._

"Let me discuss it with them."

"For the record, sir, the same offer is extended to Dr. Scott. There's a room for her as well." The secretary's tone was professional, but he thought he sensed her amusement. His morning meeting with Michener had not been a quiet one.

"I'll pass that along. Good evening."

. . .

Tom adjusted his jacket in the mirror as his father looked on.

"We'll be fine, son, you enjoy yourself tonight. We'll be unpacking in the new apartment." Tom nodded. They'd decided to take the suite for now, and their stuff from Norfolk was supposedly on its way there from the St. Louis airfield. But right this minute, he was glad to have a place to send the kids for the night while he and Rachel kept _this_ hotel room.

"Can you get the zipper for me, Tom?" Rachel asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Her black dress caused Jed's eyebrows to rise, which in turn caused Rachel to blush and retreat.

"Damn, son. You always did have good taste." He said quietly. "You going to ask her?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Coming." He called, exchanging a last look with his father.

. . . .

Tom reminded himself yet again not to reach for the box in his pocket as the waiter cleared the dessert plates away.

"Tom, what's going on?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been acting strangely all evening."

"I have?"

"Paranoia on my part, perhaps?"

"Even sitting here, in a private room, with Wolf and Burke at the door?" She said. "No, Tom, what is it?"

"I… wanted to talk about last night." He said quietly.

"What about it?"

"I sat there, and all I could think was that I was going to lose you." He reached for her hand across the table, and she could hear fear creep into his voice. "I can't lose you…I just can't…"

Rachel looked at him, hearing what he wasn't saying. He'd lost so much in the last year, and even Tom Chandler was human enough to have his limits. He was afraid he'd hit them, and break. And she knew when a man like Tom broke, it was never an easy recovery.

"You won't." she said reassuringly. "You're stuck with me."

"Really?" he said, a smile coming onto his face. "Then I guess you'll be stuck with me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the box, but kept it under the table. "Want to make it official?"

She looked at him strangely as she parsed the question. He waited until comprehension began to dawn before putting the box on the table between them.

"I know it's sudden, and I hope it's not too much, too soon. But I'm also sure about what I want, and I wanted you to know that. If you want to wait, we can."

"Tom, I…" she paused. "If this were before…it probably _would_ be too soon. But after all we've been through…" she reached for the box, opening it.

"It was my mother's."

"It's lovely." She smiled. "You asked your dad to bring it, didn't you?"

"Actually, no. He brought it to me of his own volition after a grand total of thirty minutes of vidchats." She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Apparently you make me smile."

"You talked to him about us?"

"I talked to him about you; we didn't have time to get into _us_. Also, Ash and Sam were there. But that was evidently enough."

"Well, he is your father." She paused. "You're sure it's not too soon for the kids?"

"Ashley came right out and said she likes you. It disturbs me a bit just how mature she's been about it. And Sam will probably follow her lead." He watched her tentatively touching the ring. "Does it fit? I can get it resized."

"It's a little loose." She told him, trying it on. "But for now…" she moved it over one finger, where it sat securely, and then used that hand to pull him close and kiss him. "…let's get out of here."

"Agreed."

"For the record, I wasn't kidding about needing help getting out of this dress."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."

. . . . . .

Tom woke up with the warmth of the sun. Of course, that wasn't the only thing keeping him warm right now. He looked down at the woman in his arms. She was spooned up against him; her hair was a mess. He smiled, remembering how it had gotten so tangled, his fingers unconsciously tracing her skin in memory.

"That tickles." She said softly, using her hand to still his.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." He said, taking that hand and lacing its fingers with hers.

"I feel like I'm still dreaming." She said, tilting their hands so she could look at the ring on her finger.

"If you are, so am I. Let's never wake up."

"Sounds good to me." She said, rolling over and snuggling into his chest. He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes. He briefly thought of all the things they had to do – set up a new government, rebuild the Navy, and spread the cure far and wide. And he decided that, for now, they could all wait. He was going to sleep in with his fiancée.


End file.
